


When It Rains

by Swordy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Ignis Scientia, Canon Disabled Character, Fluff, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: Over the years, Gladio has come to notice a pattern. It’s not an exact science by any means, but there’s a definite shift in Ignis's mood when it rains.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 29
Kudos: 119





	When It Rains

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was supposed to be for Gladnis Week 2019 for the prompts 'caught in the rain' and ‘melancholy'. At least I think that’s what the prompts were, it’s been so long. Anyway, it was going to be a collaboration with my good friend Recipeh for Success but as always the story got away from me and never got finished in time.
> 
> When I finally got it done, I showed it to Recipeh in case she still wanted to art for it and... well, you’ve got to see what she did. Recipeh, you have excelled yourself, my lovely. With her kind permission the art is embedded within the story but please head over to her twitter feed @recipehsart to show her all the love she so richly deserves. 
> 
> Atropa, as always you make both life and my stories better, so thank you. ❤️
> 
> Anyway, I hope people enjoy the story. I’d love you to leave a little comment if you do! Hope you’re all doing okay out there. X

For all who observe him, Ignis is a tower of strength and serenity. He is calm and composed, patient and kind. It’s not an act - very little fazes him. The years have burned away his temper. He was never quick to anger, but he would be the first to admit that he found frustration in dealing with others, a bone-deep irritation when he couldn’t just do something for himself. But over the years he's been forged in the fires of the hardships he’s endured. He knows his life is a blessing and he treats it as such. But he’s human, too. And every so often he slips.

He misses Noct.

He misses the life they had.

Over the years, Gladio has come to notice a pattern. It’s not an exact science by any means, but there’s a definite shift in Ignis's mood when it rains. The idea had seemed crazy until Ignis, in the grip of one of these despondent periods, had commented obliquely that it had been raining in Altissia and Gladio had realised that he’d been given the final piece of the puzzle. For Ignis the association is understandably painful, the leaden skies being the last thing he ever saw.

Summer in Insomnia is a strange affair. The temperature creeps ever upwards—some days it's unbearably hot—but the rains come too. For hours at a time, the skies grow dark and the clouds explode, firing steel rods at the earth, relentless in its fury. When it rains, a sort of temporary agoraphobia steals over Ignis. Plans are cancelled, invitations declined. He grows restless and uneasy. On nights when Ignis can’t sleep they talk about their adventures, everything that happened to them from leaving the safety of Insomnia's walls up until Altissia.

Never Altissia.

Late one night as the mercury stubbornly refuses to drop, they reminisce about that one perfect summer when the four of them were on the road together. A bottle of burgundy, shared on the balcony of their apartment, their fingers entwined atop the bistro table which, even tiny, still takes up too much space out here. They could afford a bigger place now, but neither of them see the point in uprooting. Home isn’t four walls; it’s each other.

Tonight Ignis's nostalgia is edged with a mournful quality, as it always is when the rains come. Even when the downpour stops, as it has now, he's still unable to shake off that sadness. He is brooding, introspective, and the gaps in their conversation yawn like a chasm as the city swelters beneath them. Gladio tries to reach him, but it’s like trying to leap Ostium Gorge from a standstill.

“That settles it,” Gladio says into one of these silences. They’ve just got through talking about camping at Pallebram, after a day spent running errands to have money for supplies. “Tomorrow we’ve got plans.”

“Oh?” Ignis replies. He doesn’t sound particularly interested, but Gladio ploughs on regardless.

“Yeah. Dress casual.”

A melancholy expression slides across Ignis's face. He rests his cheek on his upturned hand, his one good eye closed.

“You know I’m supposed to be working. Cor's waiting on that trade report.”

“It’ll keep.”

“Gladio...”

“No, Iggy. You work so hard—”

“As do you.”

Gladio bites back on his response, refusing to be goaded into an argument, which is what Ignis wants when he’s in this churlish frame of mind.

“Exactly,” he says eventually, preparing to play his ace card. “So we _both_ could do with a break, get out of the city together. You know if Noct was here he’d agree with me. We can’t rebuild Insomnia for him if we're burnt out.”

He runs his thumb across the back of Ignis's hand in an arc, watching the movement for a second before his eyes return to take in Ignis's hunched posture. It strengthens his resolve, but he keeps his voice gentle, not prepared to give Ignis any reason to take offence.

“Sometimes you need a nudge and sometimes you need a shove. So this is me, giving you that nudge.”

The response is a sigh, Ignis evidently concluding that resistance is futile.

“Then... I guess I have plans.”

OoOoO

They wake a little after seven and are on the road for nine. Ignis balks at Gladio's suggestion to leave his cell phone behind, but acquiesces to the compromise that he send all calls straight to his voicemail with a message advising that Gladio should be contacted but only in case of an emergency. With the temperature already starting to rise, Gladio guides one of the citadel cars away from the city. It’s not as fancy as the Regalia, but the engine purrs pleasantly and the large panoramic sunroof recreates the feel of the many journeys they took with the roof rolled back.

In the passenger seat Ignis is quiet, posture stiff, his fingers laced tightly on his lap. The assumption ordinarily would be that the lack of conversation is because the non-driver is simply content to look at the passing scenery, but without that luxury Gladio knows Ignis is lost in his own head, which is rarely a good thing when his mood is so low. Gladio turns on the radio and flicks through the stations until he finds something passable. Despite the passage of time since the dawn broke there is still a fairly limited choice. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the beat until the song finishes.

“We're just passing Longwythe.”

“Oh.” Ignis turns his head, as if he’s seeing it in his mind's eye. “Remember when we had that awful room at the motel there?”

Gladio thinks, then laughs. “You mean the one we shared with an army of cockroaches but the manager kept pretending that he couldn’t see them?”

Ignis smiles wryly. “I think he was doing quite well until Noct pointed out the one crawling up his leg and he jumped ten feet in the air.”

Gladio laughs hard at that. After ten years of asperity it’s hard to imagine how green they were back then, when they’d only ever known comfortable beds and full refrigerators and were horrified by the prospect of not having access to either.

They drive north for another couple of hours, the dirt road running parallel to a rusting pipeline for several miles until the remnants of a barn come into view. Gladio pulls over. The barn was abandoned when they stayed here after first leaving Insomnia, so it’s borderline miraculous that there's anything left of it now. The frame of the main structure protrudes from the ground like the bones of an unearthed skeleton, jagged timbers like long fingers reaching to the heavens for absolution. A small outhouse stubbornly remains standing and Gladio describes it incredulously as they pass. It’s like a weird analogy for the years of darkness—no rhyme or reason to what would perish and what would prevail in those unbearable conditions.

Gladio predicts it’ll take them an hour to reach the haven. It’s a clear day with a gentle breeze that stops it from straying too far from pleasantly warm and Ignis is finally willing to acknowledge that it’s a good idea to get out of the city once in a while. 

Gladio carries their supplies, a hamper and a cooler equally weighted between both hands, but straining his muscles all the same. Ignis has a rolled up picnic blanket and a tarp under one arm, his cane sweeping experimentally across the dusty ground. It’s fairly flat here, but there are boulders and loose rocks that litter their route and the mobility aid makes that journey easier. As they walk, Gladio provides commentary about how little the scenery has changed since they came here all those years ago. Ignis listens, but when they’re within ten or fifteen feet of the haven he stops, a gentle, almost dreamy smile breaking onto his face. Realising Ignis is no longer keeping pace, Gladio stops too. 

“Iggy?”

Ignis doesn’t respond initially, instead transferring the blanket and tarp and extending his right hand like he’s chasing the warmth of a fire.

“I can feel it.”

“What?”

“The haven's protections.” His smile grows broader, genuinely delighted now. He wiggles his fingers. “It’s been so long... I’d forgotten what it feels like.”

Gladio considers what he’s saying for a moment. His own memories all centre around the haven's welcoming glow and the utter relief at seeing those blue tendrils snaking into the darkness, knowing that no daemons could hurt them once they were inside its warding. It’s never occurred to him that its presence could be _felt_ too.

“What does it feel like?”

Ignis tilts his head, giving the question careful consideration before he answers. “Safety.”

There's reverence in his expression that Gladio completely understands. He's got his own emotions attached to these places. Of being wounded or exhausted or just _so fucking done_ that when one would appear on the horizon it granted you permission to finally acknowledge how close you’d come to giving up. _Safety_. It’s no surprise that Ignis would describe it that way.

“Back when we were hunting,” Ignis continues as they mount the large flat stone together, “I grew so attuned to their magic I could sense havens almost a mile away.”

Gladio all-out gapes at this information as he places their belongings down. “What? You never told me that.”

“Mmm. Also, different havens have different combinations of talisman so they give off unique energies. There were some I knew by heart; indeed, the areas that had several in close proximity made it easy for me to navigate.”

“Holy shit, that’s awesome.”

Gladio's fascinated by the admission, whilst also grieving that he didn’t know any of this before. Even now, he can scarcely believe they spent so many years maintaining that brooding, wounded distance from each other, all as a result of their differing stances about whether Ignis should be hunting or not. But they made their peace a long time ago and Gladio makes a conscious effort not to dwell on those years, since it'll only result in more of them being wasted. He unrolls the tarp they brought in case the ground was damp or dirty and smoothes it out.

“No wonder people thought you had superpowers,” he adds when Ignis hands him the picnic blanket to lay out on top of it.

“If only it had all been so positive.” Ignis places his cane down along the edge of the rug and sits down beside it. He gestures for the hamper and starts to explore the contents before continuing.

“I don’t think many people viewed me as a superhero. Looking back, I think I was probably a little naive about the reception I’d receive once I could fight adequately again.”

“How come?”

“Well, at first it was fairly innocuous—albeit irritating as they tried to prove that I must be lying about my blindness by trying to catch me out. Once they were satisfied that I couldn’t actually see, I thought that would be the end of it, but sadly not. If anything it would have been okay if that was the worst they’d done.” Ignis pauses for a moment, hand resting on top of the wine bottle he’s located, and laughs humourlessly.

“There were some moments that were... unpleasant, let’s say. Much like Kimya Auburnbrie's treatment, some of the hunters viewed my abilities with deep suspicion. In battle, if I made a mistake, I was a liability and others weren’t safe to be around me, but if I fought flawlessly then I was clearly practising the dark arts... and others weren’t safe to be around me.”

“Damned if you do...” Gladio says softly. Ignis nods.

“It certainly was a challenge.”

Typical Ignis—the master of understatement. Some of those assholes will have made Ignis's life hell, insisting he prove himself to them just when he was trying to prove to _himself_ he could still fight. Then when he did, they still shunned him, or worse. Gladio finds himself clenching his jaw even though it’s ancient history. Even when they were apart he’d argued, and at some points, punched his defence of Ignis's right to hunt, even though, ironically, that had been the issue that had driven them apart in the first place. Thank the gods they’d been able to reconcile.

“And you rose to it, same way you always do.”

This succeeds in raising a small smile from the other man so Gladio persists, determined not to let Ignis get further lost in the past when he's so dispirited and the whole reason they’re out here is to try and remedy that.

“Speaking of rising to challenges, here’s another one for you; have you guessed the wine yet?”

Ignis shakes his head. “I haven’t, but then again I haven’t actually tried yet.” He lifts the bottle from the cooler and proceeds to explore it with his fingertips. This has been something of a private joke between them for a few years ever since Gladio had attempted to pass off an inferior wine and had been rumbled by Ignis's identification of it before single glass had even been poured.

“I believe it’s a _Château de Feu,_ seven fifty-two M.E perhaps?”

Gladio blows out a long breath and chuckles. “You know, I thought you’d never get that one. Proves what I know, huh?”

Ignis waves off his praise, his expression faintly amused. “It wasn't a particular challenge. You always pull the stops out when you’re trying to spoil me. I know you, Gladio.”

“You do, don’t you?”

“And I’m all the better for it.”

Drinking in the flawless features of the man he loves so much, Gladio reaches over and takes Ignis's hand. He brings it to his lips, ignoring the scarred texture of the finger which bore the fury of the Ring of the Lucii.

“Sometimes I can’t believe we actually made it.”

Ignis nods, his head turning to view the skyline that exists only in his memory now. “I’m grateful every day.”

“Me too, Iggy. Me too.”

Doesn’t stop Gladio wishing though. Wishing Noct were still here. Wishing Ignis hadn’t lost his sight. Sometimes he feels selfish for wanting more than they already have. Mostly though he doesn’t give a fuck if the gods think him greedy; Noct didn’t deserve to lose his life anymore than Ignis deserved to spend the rest of his in darkness.

“So what reading material did you bring for us?” Ignis asks, breaking into Gladio's brooding. “I hope I’ll be suitably entertained.”

Gladio grins, despite himself. “Rest assured, Iggy. I’ve made sure everything is perfectly suited to your tastes.”

“Splendid.”

Before everything, when their biggest worries were persuading Noct to behave himself in the royal courts, they’d discovered a mutual enjoyment of shared reading. Both of them were voracious readers—with wildly differing tastes it had to be said—but what started as a joke with Gladio giving dramatic performances of his own preferred material for Ignis's amusement became formerly a way for them to relax and latterly something vital and grounding when Ignis lost his sight. Now, Ignis is proficient with Braille, but neither of them have any desire to call time on this long-standing arrangement.

But that’s for later. For now: food.

The smell when Ignis opens the hamper makes Gladio's stomach respond with an enthusiastic growl. Ignis inclines his head, his expression amused because very little gets past his ears these days. Methodically he pulls out the various containers, stacking them on the blanket until they’re starting to run out of space.

“Well I was going to say I hope that you’re hungry, but I think I already know the answer.”

Gladio chuckles. “You know me, Iggy. When have I ever been able to resist your cooking?”

Ignis offers him a slanted smile, no doubt recalling Gladio's enthusiastic encouragement whenever he’s working in their kitchen. “Almost certainly never.”

“Damn straight.”

So they eat. There are sandwiches and small meat pies Ignis baked a few days ago, pasta and aromatic rice balls. The wine slips down easily and the bottle is soon gone. It creates a warm, pleasant, sleepy feeling and Gladio stretches out on the blanket certain he could happily fall asleep beside Ignis like this. He should have convinced Ignis to take two days and they could have brought their tent and camped, just like old times. Thinking of the four of them makes him feel melancholy—and a little old—so he leans over and rummages in one of the bags to find the book he brought with them. Ignis, propped up beside him on his elbows inclines his head at the sound of movement, his expression mildly questioning.

“Time for a little entertainment,” Gladio clarifies in response to the look of inquisition.

“Excellent.” Ignis nods, smiling, the wine evidently having a similar effect on him. Those almost perpetual creases in his brow have smoothed out, making him look years younger. _He needs this_ , Gladio thinks. _We both do_.

For the next hour, Gladio reads. They pause a couple of times for more refreshment and to allow Gladio's voice to rest a little, but otherwise the afternoon rolls along pleasantly as they lie atop the haven, basking in the rays of the late summer sun. Only when Ignis asks if he’s had enough does he realise that his earlier fluency has waned. The truth is, his eyes are caught by the horizon and the gathering clouds in the distance. It doesn't feel like it's going to rain—nothing in the forecasts said it would be anything other than temperate—but ever since the dawn finally broke, their weather systems are, to put it mildly, fucked. _No_ , Gladio thinks worriedly, _it can’t rain. Not now._ He realises Ignis is still turned toward him, waiting for a response to his suggestion that Gladio stop reading.

“I, uh... sorry, Iggy. I’m okay to carry on.”

“What is it?” Ignis asks, because even blind he misses nothing. “What’s the matter?”

Gladio studies the skies a second longer with a sinking heart. It's definitely going to rain. And soon. Maybe if they pack up really fast they can make it most of the way back to the car before the inevitable downpour starts. He discounts the idea just as quickly. Ignis can’t run across the uneven, rock-strewn ground, even if Gladio carries everything they’ve brought with them, leaving him free to navigate the journey with his cane.

“I’m just looking at the sky,” he answers honestly, girding himself for Ignis's reaction. “There’s rain coming.”

Right on cue, the sun is swallowed by one of the clouds scudding across the sky. It reappears barely half a minute later, but the temporary loss of warmth has confirmed Gladio's gloomy prediction. Ignis's lips purse slightly before he nods.

“That’s unfortunate.”

“I’m really sorry, Iggy. I’d never have suggested we come if I’d known it was going to rain.”

Ignis smiles, but it’s clearly forced. “You can’t control the weather, Gladio,” he says reasonably, but there’s that note of tension in his voice that wasn’t there moments before. Gladio sighs internally, seeing his carefully planned day of relaxation melting away before his eyes. No, not melting away— _crashing and burning_ , as the imminent rainstorm will almost certainly push Ignis into a deeper funk than before they left Insomnia.

“Will we make it back to the car before it starts?” Ignis questions, inclining his head upwards as if he can see the gathering clouds.

“No. At a sprint, maybe, but...”

“But some of us aren’t equipped for sprinting.”

“I was gonna say neither of us are as young as we used to be,” Gladio says softly, never sure how much Ignis's limitations hurt his pride anymore.

“Oh for a couple of chocobos, hmm?”

“Hell yeah. I’d even have taken that really stubborn one Noct always had a soft spot for.”

Ignis snorts in amusement. To this day he could never decide if Noct had really liked the bird or whether he just didn’t want to be seen to be backing down whenever it did the opposite of what he was asking.

“Alas, we are most definitely chocobo-less, so is there perhaps a Plan B we can utilise instead?”

Gladio glances around, weighing things up. “The nearest shelter is that outhouse we passed, but if we could make it to there, we could make it to the car so that’s no good. We’ve got the tarp we laid on the ground; if we move back, I could make us a shelter. It should hold off the worst.”

Gladio watches Ignis consider their options for a moment before he gives an elegant shrug. This is Ignis putting on a brave face, but Gladio knows him too well to be fooled by his apparent nonchalance.

“As always,” Ignis says, “I defer to your outdoors expertise. Just tell me what we need to do.”

They hurriedly pack away the picnic equipment and move everything, including the blanket, to where the haven meets the sheer wall of rock that rises another five metres into the air. A slight breeze has picked up and although still warm, the air now feels heavy and ominous. Gladio fashions their tarp so that they and all their belongings are beneath it, Ignis's cane standing as a central pole to keep the tarp from touching their heads. They're under it for less than ten minutes before the first drops of rain start to splat against their roof, a steady rhythm which quickly grows in speed and ferocity. A couple of times Gladio goes to say something— _anything_ to give Ignis something to focus on other than the sound of the rain, but it’s like his ideas for conversation have fled with the sun.

The sky blackens and Ignis remains silent, head bowed as he sits cross-legged on the blanket. Beside him Gladio berates himself for insisting they come today. He wanted to get Ignis away from work, to relax a little and encourage his mind to think of other things beside the past. And yet he's made everything infinitely worse. He _must_ have. He turns to say as much, to give an apology or at the very least an acknowledgement that this was a shitty idea when, without warning, Ignis unfolds his body and pushes up, leaving the safety of their makeshift shelter to step out into the rain.

“Iggy, hey,” Gladio says, too surprised to think about reaching out to stop him, “ _hey_.”

He goes to follow, then realises he’s basically holding up the tarp like a bizarre, slightly crappy version of Titan. Ignis continues to walk forward, and for a brief moment Gladio thinks he’s going to keep going and fall off the haven, but he stops, maybe ten feet away from the edge. He doesn’t turn when Gladio calls his name again. Frustratingly, from this angle, Gladio can’t see his face. After a moment, Ignis's hand comes up to his face and then drops again. Through the rain Gladio can see that he’s now holding his visor as he tilts his head up toward the sky.

Gladio makes a decision and wriggles out from under the tarp himself. He tries to lay it down so that their possessions are covered, but his focus is still on Ignis, standing in the downpour, the rain soaking him completely. Fuck their things.

“Hey,” he repeats gently on the approach. “Iggy, are you okay?”

Ignis doesn’t turn so it’s up to Gladio to position himself in front of the other man. What he’s not expecting is Ignis's smile. It’s only small, but it’s _genuine_ —not polite, or sad or even that empty, artificial expression that Gladio recognises from when Iggy is forcing his face to express what’s expected of him even though he doesn’t feel that way inside. In no time at all, the rain has utterly destroyed his meticulously styled hair and eventually he's forced to reach up and push it back off his face. But he’s still smiling.

“Iggy?”

That dreamy expression holds a moment longer. When he answers, his voice has a similar quality to it.

“Noct always said camping in the rain 'sucked'. I understood his sentiments completely, but there was a part of me that could never bring myself to truly dislike it.” Ignis laughs softly to himself.

“It's ridiculous, I know. Do you remember, Gladio? We were like drowned coeurls; switching between sets of damp clothing, never properly clean. Having to cook and eat and sleep, all within those four walls. It couldn’t have been any more different from our lives in Insomnia. Being in such close quarters, especially in such poor weather, should have become so tiresome and yet it never did.”

Ignis's smile renews itself at whatever memory he can see in his mind's eye. “Looking back, I realise we bonded in those moments. The games and the conversations huddled together in that tent when the rains came; they _forged_ us, Gladio, just as much as every battle.” Ignis reaches out with the hand not holding his visor and catches Gladio's, like he knows even without sight, exactly where in time and space Gladio can be found.

“All those moments without privacy reaffirmed my feelings for you, too. It became like an ache, wanting to hold you and kiss you, but how could I when we were never alone together? It made me understand the idea that there can be a certain sweetness to agony.” He stops speaking and shakes his head regretfully. “How did I forget all of this?”

Gladio almost misses that last sentence over the incessant drumbeat of the rain. He debates saying something, but instead settles for giving Ignis's hand a reassuring squeeze.

“The rains in Altissia washed away all those memories,” Ignis continues, his face still turned skyward. “I grew to hate the rain, because all it reminded me of was how much I’d lost. But being here with you, with the sound of it hitting our shelter like all those nights we camped together... it's helped me remember all the things I gained. Things I would _never_ change. So thank you.”

“Hey,” Gladio says sheepishly, because it sounds like Ignis thinks he planned it this way and doesn’t that make Gladio feel like a fraud? He pushes back his own sopping wet hair. “I don’t deserve your thanks, Iggy. I’d have _never_ suggested coming if I’d thought for a minute it was gonna rain; as far as I'm concerned this is a disaster.”

With a frown Ignis reaches up, his hand tracing Gladio's features tenderly, fingers sliding across rain-slicked skin. “On the contrary, I think things turned out okay.” His expression is filled with affection. “I believe a wise man once told me ‘Sometimes you need a nudge and sometimes you need a shove'.”

Gladio snorts, catching Ignis's hand and bringing it to his lips. “I think this definitely counts as a shove, Iggy.”

Ignis chuckles softly. His shirt clings to his skin, the near-transparent material tracing the shape of his collarbones, giving Gladio an almost overwhelming urge to duck his head and kiss along their lines. Even the chain of the pendant he wears is mapped out beneath the fabric.

The rain makes Ignis look younger. Gladio loves his hair, hell, he even helped Iggy fashion it into that new distinctive style when it grew too long on top, but this Ignis—despite all the scars and the toll the years have taken—this Ignis is the one he fell in love with when they were teenagers. Back then, standing this close had made his heart pound like a jackhammer and, in that first rush of affection, Gladio hadn't believed it possible that he would ever be able to love Ignis more. But he does. He really does.

“Gladio?” Ignis asks, like he can hear those thoughts. His face is still tilted upwards, the rain running in rivulets across his skin. He's still smiling. “What are you thinking about?”

So Gladio tells him. How the rain is making him remember too. How it’s stripped away the years and taken him back to the days of their courtship. How he loves Ignis more than he ever dreamed possible. Their faces are inches apart, and Ignis's breath ghosts across his skin as he talks. Gladio closes his eyes and breathes in the familiarity of it all. They're miles and miles out of Insomnia yet home is still right here.

And then they kiss. Gladio moves with deliberate slowness, savouring that anticipation right up to the last second. Even all these years later he still feels that thrill. Kissing this man, kissing _Ignis Scientia_. Their mouths finally meet, lips soft and damp. The rain makes Ignis taste different, highlighting notes that Gladio's not normally aware of. Without his sight, touch is an integral part of any intimacy for Ignis, but Gladio too brings up his hands, burying them in Ignis's soaking wet hair and recognising how grateful he is to have the other man here—real and solid beneath his fingertips when so much has happened that could have destroyed that. Even just _thinking_ about losing Ignis makes him deepen the kiss. 

And Ignis kisses him back like the feeling is completely mutual. There’s a restrained ferocity, but it’s determination, not desperation, like he’s finally realising that if the end of the world couldn’t stop him, then why should the rain? As unwelcome as this unexpected downpour first seemed, getting caught in it has allowed Ignis to reclaim his memories, stolen from him by the rains of Altissia.

Gladio feels the moment Ignis’s mouth curves into a smile and his own does too. They stand face to face, soaked to the skin. Content just to hold each other and remember.

“Do you want to head back?” Gladio says eventually, his fingertips brushing lightly against the angle of Ignis's jaw.

“There’s no rush,” Ignis replies and there's something playing at the curve of his lips that makes Gladio take notice. “Does it look like it’ll pass?”

In truth it feels like it’s starting to ease already. Right then, Gladio's hit with another memory—of clothes laid out to dry across the smooth, flat stone of the haven while Noct and Prompto sought entertainment elsewhere. Of passing that precious time alone with their mouths and bodies beneath the returned blue skies. His hand is still resting on Ignis's cheek. He turns his gaze from the heavens to give Ignis another tender kiss.

“Yeah, I think it’ll pass.”  
  
[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/144103646@N04/49953840287/in/dateposted-public/)

**End**


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